


Magister's Will

by AngstOfDestiny



Series: Of Arrows and Daggers [2]
Category: Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Heavy Angst, M/M, Major Character Injury, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Attempt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-21
Updated: 2018-04-21
Packaged: 2019-04-25 20:41:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,682
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14386707
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AngstOfDestiny/pseuds/AngstOfDestiny
Summary: Set during chapter 17th ofthe Dalish ArrowBest read with the main storyTavaris and Alistair, both wounded, stay behind while Zevran and Morrigan go forward to find the Ashes. They fixsomebridges between them.





	Magister's Will

His leg hurt terribly, shattered from the hip to the knee. He could see the bone cutting through the skin of his leggings in several points. He wasn’t sure how it happened — first he was fighting his own shadow, and then, suddenly it flickered into much bigger shape and delivered blow that brought to his mind Sten with his enormous sword. Then, blink of an eye later he was again standing — falling — in the front of an elven shadow with characteristic long braid whirring behind him.

If not for Zevran, who sneaked away from his own shadow to deliver a killing blow into Tavaris’ reflection’s throat he’d probably end up with an arrow in an eye. A fitting end, he thought bitterly, allowing his ex lover to help him sit down under a wall, before he went to help Alistair on Tav’s urging.

“Morrigan, we need to hurry and bring the Ashes here,” Zevran said coming back to Tavaris, and brushing a stray hair from his brow. The warmth of his hand — even gloved and soaked in blood — was calming, stabilizing, so Tav leaned into the touch, wishing to be in a warm _aravella,_ lazing around with Zevran and a few bottles of Radha’s _manise_. Zev would appreciate _haur_ _’manise,_ he was sure. Strong, golden, exciting, leaving the sweet aftertaste of honey — just like Zev himself.

The assassin, thankfully, didn’t seem to think much of it. He rummaged through his pockets and pressed two vials of green liquid into his hand.

“It is a magister’s will. One small sip will ease the pain; two for you, three for Alistair should bring sleep. Drink more than half of a vial, you won’t wake up, so be careful with that. We will be back as soon as possible with the Ashes for you.”

Tavaris shook his head to get rid of the dizziness caused by the pain and cleared his throat.

“ _Ma_ _’serannas._ But you should turn around, get Leliana and go straight to Orlais.” he said, his heart clenching at the very thought of sending his _Sal_ _’shiral_ away. The very fact that he wouldn’t be there to watch out for Zevran filled him with unearthly fear. But there were things that had to be done.

He reached under his collar and pulled one of the pendants there over his head. His Warden’s Oath. He pressed it into Zevran’s hand. “Take this, ride hard, find Wardens there, tell them what happened here; with the Blight, Callian, Loghain, Duncan… Tell them that we have failed and that Ferelden needs help, no matter if it wants it. I am ready to step on Falon’Din’s paths, but there are things that need to be done”

Zevran scoffed.

“I am not going to listen to your funeral speeches, my dear Warden. The Ashes are close somewhere; I can not leave you here without trying at least.”

He tucked the Oath into one of the pockets of his belt though. That was good. Zevran could take the message and he had a poison to drink when it will be clear that there will be no miracle. He couldn’t expect any better. Still, he protested.

“It’s too dangerous and the outcome isn’t guaranteed. It’s a risk I can’t agree to. We need you to pass the message.” _And I love you and can_ _’t stand the thought of you facing further dangers of the temple that had killed me._ He had no right to his feelings to Zevran, but he couldn’t let him risk himself that way.

 _“_ Let them go if they volunteer,” Alistair rasped to the side. “I… I would like to live… a week or two longer, if that’s… possible.”

Tavaris grimaced. He didn’t want Zevran risk his life for the _shem_ who will probably die before they even manage to come back — if they do. But…

“It’s not like I can stop you right now,” he said, resigned. “I think it’s a waste of time, but as long as you remember that the vital thing is to ensure that there _are_ Wardens in Ferelden, it has to suffice.”

“I will make sure of that,” Zevran promised, still kneeling by Tavaris side. His hand was so warm on his knee. “But my oath was to you and I consider it my duty to make sure you walk down from this mountain.”

Tavaris jerked as if he was slapped. Oath. Again this cursed oath. Even now he was going to live through another reminder that he raped Zevran for weeks, foolishly believing that his willingness came from mutual attraction, not misguided sense of duty.

“You are free of your oath, Zevran,” he said, trying to keep his voice even. “If that’s what drives you, please… just go.”

“I will go. And I will return with the Ashes.” Zevran said, his tone clipped. He turned to Morrigan. “Do you wish to join me?”

The witch sighed. “If you go alone, I will lose three, not two of the few people I don’t despise. Though I believe that Tavaris is right and this is a ridiculous waste of time.”

“I need him.” Zevran cut her off curtly. “So I am willing to do whatever it takes to get him back on his feet.”

“I am… touched how… much you two…. care about me,” Alistair interjected sourly. “You know… I am the… one with my guts… spilling out.”

“I said I don’t despise you, didn’t I?” Morrigan shot back, weaving a spell in the air. “Besides, you talk a bit too much for someone who’s dying.”

Alistair coughed, his lips stained with blood.

“I am touched…” He rasped out. “Truly.”

Tavaris glanced nervously at him then at Zevran. Morrigan released the spell, enveloping Tav’s leg and Alistair’s midriff in a thick layer of ice. The hunter almost yelped.

“If you don’t want us to drink that poison now, better hurry. He doesn’t have much time left.”

Though, in all honesty, he would love to chug both vials as soon as Zevran left his sight.

The assassin just nodded and left. Morrigan followed.

 

Looking at them leaving made the ice on his leg feel quite warm compared to the frigid feeling in his chest. There were only the two of them — they both were deadly, but who knew, what they might have encountered there? He should have told them to simply leave, go to Orlais and find some _real_ Wardens who would be able to handle the Archdemon.

He looked down at his leg — three, four, five places where the bones broke the skin, who knows how many breaks weren’t even visible. It would really take a _miracle_ for him to walk ever again.

Well, he wasn’t supposed to be walking anymore in the first place. The very fact that he got his chance with Zevran… He was supposed to have his tree and his staff already, not fall in love and fight the Darkspawn and then get stuck here with Alistair — of all of the people — without a way out.

 

“Can I get a bit closer? I know I am not your favorite person to cuddle, but it’s rather cold here,” Alistair asked suddenly. Tavaris almost jumped, jousting his leg painfully. While he knew that the human was siting by the same wall, somehow he didn’t expect him to initiate any interactions.

“It is supposed to be cold,” Tav grumbled, but awkwardly moved closer to Alistair, dragging his bow behind him. “You know, so your spleen wouldn’t fall out.”

Alistair grimaced.

“Thanks for the nice visual, brother.”

Tavaris, who already was close enough for Alistair to lean on him, stiffened.

“Don’t call me that.” He hissed. “You don’t get to call me a heathen and a murderer and then few hours later get all brotherly with me.”

Alistair’s head hit the wall behind them with a soft _thud_.

“I’ve been thinking. I don’t like many things you did, and I don’t always agree with you. Because, you know, killing your friends is bad.”

Tavaris’ felt his jaw clenching, but before he managed to answer anything, the human continued.

“But… You didn’t want any of that, right? So I wanted to say that I am sorry, I guess. I think Duncan would do the same, were he in this situation. I couldn’t… but that’s why I left all this leading thing to you, right? So I probably shouldn’t give you grief over that now.”

Tav let out a small huff — he wasn’t even sure himself if that was a laugh or an exhale of relief.

“Great. At least I won’t die next to the guy who hates me guts.”

Alistair gave out a small laugh.

“Well, I might hate you a bit for sending these two on a _holy quest_. We could have called a Tevinter Magister and a few Darkspawn to help them, you know?”

“I have no idea what are you talking about,” Tav answered, his tone turning cold again. “They are both smart, resourceful people and if there’s _anything_ to be found in this temple, they will find it.”

“I won’t argue with that — it’s just, you know, the Ashes are supposed to be found by _most faithful._ Neither of them comes to my mind when I think about _faithful_ people.”

Tavaris turned to him with a heavy look. Alistair raised his hand to emphasize whatever he was going to say, but dropped it back to his knee instantly.

“Ouch. That hurts.” He complained, and looked down at the Dalish hunter. “You have your doubts as well, Tav. You _are_ expecting to die here.”

The elf sighed, propping his good leg higher to rest his chin on his knee.

“I believe, without any doubt in Zevran and Morrigan. They are not without their flaws, but they are good, capable people. What I don’t believe are miraculous properties of old ash.”

“This isn’t just _old ash,_ ” Alistair protested. “These are Sacred Ashes of Holy Andraste!”

“Have you ever been to Emerald Graves?” Tavaris asked, leaning against the wall heavily. His leg hurt.

“It’s… in Orlais somewhere, right?” The human coughed, droplets of blood appearing on his lips. “I can’t say I did.”

 Tavaris uncorked one of the vials and handed it to him.

“Take a sip. Or more, you heard Zevran. I am not going to limit you.”

Alistair accepted the poison, but the sip he took was so shallow Tavaris wasn’t sure if it would even work as a painkiller.

“Thank you,” Alistair gave the vial back and the hunter plugged it again. “So, what with these Emerald Graves?”

“You should go there one day if you’ll get out of here alive,” Tavaris suggested quietly. “It’s one of the most beautiful places I ever saw. But… There are old _elvhen_ burial grounds there, you know. From Firewater Garden to Halamshiral itself, there are thousands of _Vallasdahlen_ there — and among those are _Vallasdahlen_ of our greatest heroes — Emerald Knights. It is said, that if a child from the Knight’s line comes to their ancestor’s _Vallasdahlen_ in a time of need, the Knight would pass their strength to them to help them in an upcoming trial. If I could, I would gladly go to Mahariel’s _Vallasdahlen_ to ask for the supernatural help. But imagine what you’d say if I insisted to search miles and miles of forests to find that one tree, that to my best knowledge might have been already cut down when they built the Winter Palace.”

“I… probably would consider it dumb,” Alistair said hesitantly.

“My point exactly! What am I supposed to think about the quest for thousands-years old cremation ash?”

Alistair was quiet for a moment. Tavaris couldn’t help but wonder if he’s just thinking or silently dying already.

“I… think I can see where you come from,” he said finally. Not dead then. “And I am sorry for putting my foot in my mouth. You know, saying these things…”

“I know which things. I probably shouldn’t say some things I did either.”

“Probably. You are a total ass sometimes, you know?”

Tavaris cracked a weak smile. The leg still hurt and he couldn’t help but think that for Alistair it will be over soon, while he would wait long days for the death — from starvation, dehydration or cold, whatever gets him first — if not for the poison Zevran so kindly left him. But there was nothing to be done, so he resorted to joking.

“Part of my charm, so I heard.”

“I’m sure Zevran would have something to add here,” Alistair chuckle turned into wheezing. “I probably shouldn’t laugh.”

Tavaris stiffened, not very happy to examine his ill-fated relationship with Zevran.

“If you don’t mind, I would prefer if we didn’t mention him.”

He was already drowning in guilt, and he was probably going to torment himself with that long after Alistair was gone, so if he could have some _distraction_ now…

Alistair, of course, couldn’t get a hint — when ever he could?

“Why not? I thought you were, you know…”

“I thought many things that turned to be untrue. This is one of them.”

The human looked at him confused and opened his mouth to ask another question, but he sneezed, bending over in a way that looked truly painful and groaned. His lips were now wholly covered in blood.

“Maybe you should at least sleep,” Tavaris suggested. “The more it hurts the more likely you are to hurt yourself more.”

“I am almost sure that what you said made sense,” Alistair’s words were halted and pained. “So I am going to listen to you. This time.”

“Good. You can lie against me if that’s more comfortable.” He uncapped ‘Alistair’s’ vial and handed it to the templar again. The human drank reluctantly before giving it back.

“Thanks,” he huffed, carefully moving to lie down with his head on Tav’s good thigh. He was out within minutes.

 

During the next few hours he contemplated multiple times downing the poison Zevran left him; but Alistair was still breathing — against all reason — and it would be unnecessarily cruel to allow him to wake up to his cooling corpse; assuming he would wake up ever again.

Tavaris had also a more selfish reason; one he didn’t have any right to. There was still a chance that Zevran would come back; and even if there wouldn’t be any kisses or soft words now — kisses and soft words he didn’t deserve, having used him as he did — the hope of seeing his _vhenan_ , his _sal_ _’shiral_ once again stayed his hand.

He thought he was clear enough. That he had explained well enough that he didn’t consider him a slave, or even a servant. That he was free to go, free to choose, free to refuse. But he failed miserably, hurting the man he grew to love in the process. He didn’t deserve this last look into these honey-gold eyes.

That thought was almost enough to cut everything short at that moment, but his craving for one last look, one last time of hearing the accented voice was still stronger than that, even if his will started to crumble. He was an evil, rotten man, but he couldn’t get enough.

What he would like more than anything would be a one, last one kiss — but that was too much to ask, even if his whole self ached from that need. But the last look and he could die in peace.

 

Particles of dust flew through the air. Tavaris counted the tiles on the floor — sixty four — and on the opposite wall — forty eight. His heart almost broke again when he remembered how Zevran’s Antivan lilt sounded in the throes of passion. How it felt to feel his breath on his skin.

How it felt to _use_ Zevran when he deserved so much better.

He didn’t deserve his peace, Tavaris finally decided, so he picked ‘his own’ vial and popped it open.

 

Soon the poison started to work — he heard soft steps over the granite floor and Falon’Din himself appeared. In his last act of mercy he was wearing Zevran’s face.

 


End file.
